I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. I don’t. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. “Monsieur admires the poster?” As a rule Sir John treated such advances with cold silence. He wanted to talk with the patient, test him variously; and he wanted to be alone with him while he put these tests. Entering the house, he found himself in a narrow passage leading to the back stairs. Good heavens! She was discussing love-making.
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